


he has done this all before

by RaeOfFrickingSunshine



Category: Outer Banks (TV)
Genre: Character Study-ish, Just a drabble, character focussed, set before the series i guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24181021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeOfFrickingSunshine/pseuds/RaeOfFrickingSunshine
Summary: Perhaps the most surprising thing about JJ Maybank is the way he is simultaneously the easiest and the hardest person to love.a study into the way jj maybank loves
Comments: 39
Kudos: 221





	he has done this all before

Perhaps the most surprising thing about JJ Maybank is the way he is simultaneously the easiest and the hardest person to love.

John B doesn’t have any siblings, but he has JJ and that is the next best thing. Maybe even better, because you can’t choose your siblings but he’d definitely chosen JJ.

Their mom’s both sucked and ditched at various vital developmental stages, but John B’s dad dragged them both up with gentle cuffs around the ear and early morning fishing trips. He was constantly rolling his eyes at JJ, but was utterly resigned to his consistent presence around the house. JJ was always joining them at the table or in the yard and John B knew his dad’s gaze caught on him a lot. Had heard him talking to his friends about _that Maybank kid_ and the way he spoke about JJ’s dad.

John B did suggest playing at JJ’s house, but JJ wrinkled his nose and dismissed the idea quickly. “Yours is much better, and your dad can cook.”

John B knew how people spoke about JJ at school. How the canteen staff kept a keen eye on the scrawny blonde, having caught him slipping things into his pockets more than once. John B always packed extra for his lunch but JJ rarely accepted it.

JJ stared out of windows during class, or jerked his leg so his desk shook, or tapped a rhythm into the wood with his pencil. Sometimes he hunched, his head on the flat surface. Teacher’s despaired about him, snapping _sit still, JJ_ and barking _Maybank, please pay attention_.

JJ was loud and the reason behind most of John B’s injuries. The broken arm from constructing the flimsy skateboarding ramp; the first scrap they ever got into with some Kooks in the McDonald’s parking lot. Sometimes JJ dragged him out of bed in the night to go adventuring and they’d end sat at the top of the bell tower of the abandoned church, or sat on the end of the jetty. More often than not JJ would jump into the water, shake his hair out all over John B.

All of his most daring stunts have been set up by JJ. Whether it’s the zipwire they attempt to create, or scaling all the trees in the vicinity – even the dubious looking ones with flimsy branches that whip John B in the face as he follows JJ up.

John B can’t pinpoint the exact moment he realises that JJ doesn’t always sleep at home. Maybe when JJ comes into school in the same outfit three days in a row and smelling less than fragrant, or when he accepts the extra food John B always brings. Maybe when his dad’s eyes flit over the scrawny blonde and he says, “you need a wash, kid,” in a blithe tone, and JJ stares blankly back, shoulders tense.

JJ goes home that evening and doesn’t come to school for two days. When he comes back he’s limping. He tells John B that he fell off his bed with an easy sigh, and then gets sent to the principal’s office later on for telling a teacher to _mind your own fucking business_.

It’s when they’re fourteen and getting changed for gym that things really fall into place. JJ is always moving, limbs never still. So it catches John B’s eye when he’s slow to pull off his tank, his movements ginger. As his t-shirt pulls up his body John B sees the bruises all along his ribs. They’re all different colours – some deep purple, some yellowing and faded.

“Fall off your bed?” his tone is casual.

JJ looks at him with the dead gaze he usually reserves for teachers and any adult who tries to assert their authority. “I’m a real klutz.”

The blonde is perhaps the opposite of a klutz. He moves so much that he knows the limits of his own limbs. He knows exactly when to snap his board around in the water, knows precisely how to cut through the surf the fastest. He can balance on tree branches for hours without even trying. He jumps from land to boat without staggering, moving easily with the movement of the sea.

The boys stare at each other. John B gives in first, looking away.

He’s learnt some things about handling JJ Maybank, so he leaves it three days before saying, “you can crash at mine, if it’s closer,” because JJ’s dragged him out of bed at midnight and on a walk through the neighbourhood in the opposite direction to the Maybank household.

JJ doesn’t look at him, but he does follow him into the Chateau. John B quickly converts the couch into the pull out, throws a blanket on it, and doesn’t watch as JJ stands next to it.

The next morning the blanket is folded neatly in one corner, and JJ is sitting on the porch with a bowl of cereal.

JJ doesn’t talk about the bruises and the mysterious injuries and the one time John B tries his friend storms off and doesn’t come to school the next day. He does turn up at John B’s house that night and his arms are listless by his sides and he stares into the middle distance. It scares John B, the vacant expression and the blood still dripping from his friend’s split lip.

They share their first cigarette when John B’s dad is away at sea for the first trip longer than two days. The smoke sticks in John B’s lungs and he splutters but JJ inhales and exhales smoothly, his knee stilling as he takes deep drags.

They get high off a joint JJ’s cousin gives him for his birthday, and JJ takes all the chickens out of the coop in John B’s back yard and tries to race them. John B lies on the couch and watches, calling out encouragement. Pope comes in and shakes his head at them. JJ clucks his tongue in what he probably thinks is an imitation of the chickens but instead makes them scatter around him, flapping their wings and squawking.

“Don’t upset Henrietta,” John B calls out, and JJ salutes him lazily.

Once he’s worn himself out he collapses on the couch next to John B, one arm thrown over the back. John B tips his head back and his neck touches JJ’s warm arm. Neither of them move, and the sun sets in a haze of pink and purple over the water.

“Love you, man,” John B mumbles quietly, because his mind is fuzzy and quiet.

JJ looks at him sideways.

“You’re so fucking high,” Pope accuses.

“Maybe,” John B concedes. “But it’s still true.”

JJ smacks a kiss to his cheek and they grin at each other, JJ leaning on John B and smelling of salt and sea and sun.

John B’s not even surprised when he wakes up and JJ is curled up next to him like a cat, on top of the covers and breathing lightly. The blonde shifts as he pulls the covers from beneath him, but accepts the warmth and presses his cheek further into the pillow. From then John B always leaves his window ajar, which is a potentially risky venture in the Cut. JJ is like some neighbourhood stray, coming and going as he pleases. John B’s dad makes some idle comments, but JJ bares his teeth in some semblance of a smile and they mostly rub along fine.

JJ steals John B’s hats and wears them backwards on salt crisp sun-bleached hair. As soon as they make friends with Kie, JJ is always there at The Wreck’s closing time, palms slamming on the table, tapping a rhythm on the floor. There’s an edge to his interactions with Kie, a sharpness, the way he whistles admiringly and says, “looking _good,_ Kie,” as though he wants the girl to push at his cheek, or slap at his shoulder.

Kiara asks him one day why he’s friends with JJ. The question floors him, snatches all words from his mind. But Kiara sees John B talking JJ down from fights, or getting drawn into them because of him. Sees John B negotiating with yet another shopkeeper, as JJ stands behind with a vacant look in his eyes. JJ in the kitchen eating all the bread when he has the munchies, despite that being the only food John B has in the house.

“He’s my best friend,” he informs her as though that explains everything. Kiara has a calculating look on her face.

They don’t see the other versions of JJ – the one which does all the laundry when Big John goes missing. The one who pushes John B into a chair at the kitchen table and insists he’s not moving until he’s eaten all of the twice reheated and slightly congealed mac and cheese JJ’s scrounged from somewhere. The one who understands the need for John B to go to the Boneyard and drink cheap beer until he can’t walk without a stagger. It’s JJ who loops John B’s arm around his shoulders with a sigh and drags him all the way home.

It’s also JJ who says, “maybe you should talk about it,” in a hesitant voice, when John B lies in bed and stares at the ceiling because he’s much too young to be thinking about making mortgage payments and he’s not even sure his dad’s alive. John B also suspects it’s JJ who contacts his uncle. Uncle T drops around for three days, and JJ seems relieved but wary of the new authority figure. Then Uncle T does a moonlight flit and John B isn’t surprised, but JJ looks a little crushed at being let down _again_ and spends the day frantically cleaning as though that will prevent DCS descending.

Loyalty means everything to JJ. When you grow up with extremely little in the Cut, you tend to hold onto intangible concepts. John B never has to worry that he’ll be heading into anything without back up.

*

JJ and Pope are polar opposites of the academic achievement scale.

Pope has his sights set firmly on college, whereas JJ expresses doubts he will make it to graduation.

JJ is perhaps one of the smartest people Pope knows. Definitely not in the way conventional intelligence was measured. JJ has read precisely one book in his lifetime, and that was only because John B also had the audio tape. His favourite movie is _Die Hard_.

But his quips are razor sharp. He has the memory of an elephant, remembering things like Pope doesn’t like pickles on his burgers. JJ’s always reaching for them whenever they manage to beg a free meal from The Wreck. He can recall details from movies he’s watched years after, and he’s surprisingly sound in chemistry labs once everyone recovers from the initial trepidation of JJ being allowed near chemicals.

Pope is only friends with him because of John B. If he is going to be completely honest, he would never have dared to go near the blonde if not for John B. In fact, his dad constantly tries to drag him away from the association.

“Those Maybanks are good for nothing,” his dad glowers at him, as Pope tucks his board under his arm and makes a dash for JJ’s bike.

JJ is cavalier about injuries and wounds. Pope falls off his board, wax failing him, and it hits him over the head. The world goes black and he wakes up on the beach, John B and JJ crouched over him.

JJ says, “he’ll be fine, just don’t let him fall asleep for like an hour,” as Pope’s head lolls to the side, muscles loose.

“I definitely think he should get it checked out,” John B frets – and if this exchange isn’t the epitome of the pair, Pope doesn’t know what is.

“Pope, yo, Pope – what’s your insurance plan cover?”

His head is still groggy, licks his lips twice before answering. “I don’t think we have one.”

JJ’s triumphant, standing up and brushing sand from his palms. “There we fucking go.”

They take him back to the Chateau and it’s JJ’s hand on his knee to stop him falling asleep before the arbitrary deadline they’ve decided between themselves. It’s JJ who wakes him up after three hours, just to make sure he’s _not dead or some shit._

Pope slices his thumb on a knife. JJ inspects it briefly, then throws him a towel and tells him to stop being such a fucking pussy. It annoys Pope, who has to sit on the couch and breathe deeply for a while. Kiara fusses over the wound, shooting JJ an annoyed look as she unwraps the towel. It’s stopped bleeding, but Kie smooths a band aid over it anyway. JJ watches them from the corner of his eye.

JJ falls from a high branch, crashing through the lower ones. Pope and Kiara shoot up from the porch, but John B barely glances over. The blonde lies on the floor for a few seconds before he jumps up, jogging back over to the porch.

“Shit,” he says, but he’s grinning, one hand pressed to his side. “Hey, did I bust something?”

When he pulls his shirt up there are a number of bruises littering his side, all at various stages of healing. He’s referring in particular to one spot, fingers light on the skin. Pope pushes his fingers into the rib and JJ twists away, breath hissing out. There’s a thud as John B swings his legs out from the hammock, placing his feet on the porch.

“Come here,” he commands, and JJ goes without thinking. John B runs his fingertips over the boy’s side in a way that is obviously not unfamiliar. “Just a rib,” he declares, and JJ drops his tank top and stretches his arms over his head.

“ _Just_ a rib?” Kiara demands, and she hasn’t sat down, still stands on the porch. “I mean – if it’s fractured, it could burst a lung or something. You just fell like 15 feet out of a _tree_.”

She’s looking to Pope for back up because they both know JJ and John B are lax about personal safety.

“I’ve had worse,” JJ says lightly, and he’s prodding at the rib in question experimentally.

“You should get it checked out, at least,” Kiara insists. Pope sees JJ and John B exchanging a look, and Kiara is still staring at him for back up.

“And how the fuck do you expect me to pay for that?” JJ’s tone is still light, but his eyes have narrowed at Kiara. “Think they’ll take partial payment of quarter of an ounce and some empties?”

Kiara is building herself up for something, her shoulders drawing backwards. “JJ-”

Pope recognises the need for diffusion. He says, “yo, JJ, I swear you have like nine lives or something.”

John B snorts. “Probably used all of them by now.”

“You have better survival rate than rats,” Pope decides, and JJ’s switched to look at him rather than Kiara.

“Definitely better looking, though,” JJ declares. “And rats are super clever anyway, so thanks for the compliment.”

JJ goes surfing the next day, and Kie punches him in the shoulder when he comes back. JJ shrugs her off, ducking through the doorway, but he pauses for a moment and glances backwards before he disappears into the gloom.

Pope notices how sometimes JJ holds himself stiffly, moves gingerly, winces when he thinks no one is looking. He has a ridiculously high pain threshold – Pope walks onto the porch to find JJ bent over his leg, pulling grit and dirt out of a sore and angry looking graze on his calf with Kie’s eyebrow tweezers.

“Fell off the bike,” JJ explains as Pope perches on the arm of the armchair.

“I told you not to try and do a jump,” Kiara mutters. She’s looking the opposite way, lips pressed into a thin line. John B looks vaguely amused, especially when JJ tips half a bottle of beer onto the wound without flinching.

“I’m not sure that’s how first aid works, JJ,” Pope informs him. The beer must puddle in JJ’s combat boot, but he just throws his legs out in front of him. Pulls a cigarette from behind his ear and lights it, blowing the smoke right into Pope’s face.

JJ either likes to touch everyone, or no one. He either flings his legs and arms around or over people, curls his hand behind Pope’s neck, or on his cheek so his thumb’s on his jawline, or he moves away when anyone reaches for him. John B navigates the nuances of JJ with an ease and familiarity, and Pope begins to learn how to read him. Whether he would welcome a slap to the shoulder and for Pope to slump against him, or whether he wants the armchair to himself.

They play slaps, hands held in front of each other, and JJ tackles him on the deck of the Pogue until he’s pushed Pope’s face to the worn floor. JJ either stands too close or too far away, either smacks a loud kiss to Pope’s face or flinches when Pope brushes past him in a doorway.

It begins to make sense when John B and JJ have an argument about something, and Kiara takes John B’s side. JJ snaps, “whatever, I’m getting the fuck out of here,” and immediately does, the doorframe rattling behind him. John B rolls his eyes as he hears the bike revving out front.

Pope asks John B where JJ is when he doesn’t show up for the third day, and John B’s shoulders tighten. “I don’t know, Pope. Probably at home. Maybe he’s swam out to sea.”

“Should we like, look for him or something?” Pope asks, and John B’s breath gusts out.

“He always comes back,” he tells him. “It’s worse if we go looking.”

Pope doesn’t know what is worse if they go looking – sometimes John B and JJ have their own language, all snatched looks and glares and shoulder shoves.

On the fifth day Pope and Kiara play cards on the porch whilst John B texts someone in the hammock. The front door opens and JJ’s boots are a familiar sound as he makes his way through the house.

“Fucking Luke, man,” he opens with, but he hovers in the doorway. From his vantage point he can only see John B and the hammock, but as he steps forward he sees Pope and Kiara. Everyone stops to look at him, apart from John B who barely glances up from his phone.

JJ has a split but healing lip and a small bruise on his cheek.

“There’s beer in the fridge,” John B says finally, and the group breathe out collectively. JJ turns and leaves, and finally John B lowers his phone and looks at his retreating friend. His breath huffs out as he pulls himself up and follows him inside. Pope can hear low voices from the kitchen, John B saying something which sounds like _Christ, JJ,_ and JJ’s familiar, almost mocking tone.

When they both reappear John B collapses back into the hammock, but passes JJ a battered tin. JJ sits on the floor, leaning back against the railings, and begins rolling a joint.

“Aw,” says Kiara sweetly, “did you guys kiss and make up?”

JJ looks up from the paper. “Why, you want in, Kie? Because I can make that happen for you.”

John B blows out a laugh from the hammock.

Pope doesn’t realise how concerned he is by JJ’s now careful distance until he feels relieved when JJ offers him a lift into town and doesn’t flinch away at being in close proximity on the bike. He’s been mostly wearing t-shirts, but he’s wearing a tank, and the breeze pulls at the looser arms and reveal a series of welts and bruises that Pope can only see because he’s pressed against his friend’s back, trying not to panic as JJ takes a corner too widely and far too fast. Usually Pope would shout at him, but he’s pre-occupied by the bruises.

He asks about them idly, looking the opposite way to his friend and keeping his tone light. “What’s with all them?” he asks.

“All what?” JJ pauses, and he’s looking at Pope with a frown.

“All these,” Pope gestures to his own sides, to an approximation of where he’d seen the bruises on JJ.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Pope,” JJ’s tone is closed off, guarded. He stands and his spine pops as he does so, shoulders rolling back. “Drink?”

Kiara buys JJ a fidget cube as a joke and Pope immediately hates the gift. The air is filled with constant clicking, or the blonde tossing the small cube from hand to hand.

“At least it’s not a lighter,” Kiara reasons with him, as Pope complains about the noise once more.

Pope bats at the black cube when JJ tosses it up. It bounces across the floor of the deck and plops into the water below. JJ scrambles onto his stomach and fishes for it, then looks like he’s about to dive in. Kiara and Pope watch in slight bemusement.

“Whatever,” JJ shrugs eventually, and then pulls out his lighter.

Pope buys him a fidget spinner as an apology, and that is perhaps even worse than the cube. JJ convinces everyone to sit still whilst he balances it on their nose or their chin. He even tries the tip of Pope’s ear, but it clatters to the floor.

“Too many brains,” JJ decides, and he’s still standing too close in the boundary-less way JJ has. “It’s like a forcefield or something.” The smell of salt radiates from his skin, and Pope pushes him away.

John B goes on actual real-life dates, wearing one of his stupidly patterned shirts. JJ and Pope stay at the Chateau and watch all the films John B has on DVD and rank them in order of preference. They take the Pogue out and JJ teaches Pope how to crab, properly this time. JJ makes him a friendship bracelet out of scraps of leather lace and ties it around his wrist before stealing his cap.

They get paired together on a history project, and Pope writes it, but JJ presents. He’s a bundle of energy, bouncing across the front of the class, arms wide. They get an A, which is JJ’s first ever, and he doesn’t stop grinning all day.

Pope notices JJ talks a lot without saying anything – Pope knows his favourite film, favourite colour. Is up to date with the information of his latest conquest from the Boneyard, about the fact that JJ is banned from eating too much dairy following an incident six months ago from which the toilet had never recovered, should John B’s mutterings be believed. His mom isn’t around – when they get high, John B and JJ sometimes compare shitty mom stories and theories about where they both are.

JJ’s favourite is that they were secretly lovers and they’re currently living it up in Las Vegas, running a super swanky casino.

Besides that, Pope couldn’t say whether JJ had ever officially been diagnosed with anything, despite the obvious evidence. Pope could probably guess why he never goes home (fights with Kooks is a good excuse, but Kooks like to boast, and the boasting never quite corroborates) but JJ would never tell him directly.

Pope knows that John B considers himself the de facto leader of their merry band of misfits. But it’s definitely JJ who orchestrates Kiara re-joining them, despite neither of them admitting it. It’s JJ who drags Pope off on some misconceived plot when Pope threatens to become overwhelmed with the stress of finals. It’s JJ who listens to Kiara’s rants about inequality and climate change, chimes in with an appropriate question, long after John B’s gaze has become unfocussed.

It’s definitely JJ who would jump off a cliff for all of them. And he does.

*

JJ Maybank is her least favourite Pogue for a good six months.

His reputation precedes him, and she’s known of him since they were kids. When he was younger he liked to take up an inordinate amount of the teacher’s time. He was loud and brash and wildly inappropriate. He stunk of cigarette smoke, or weed, and was often covered in a fine dusting of sand. He treated school with contempt and she’d heard how he had one-night stands without a thought and never called them back. Whenever John B was in trouble, it was usually initiated by JJ.

Objectively, he was not a good person.

Subjectively, Kiara is reserving judgement.

She goes through middle school with them, and her parents blame the Pogue’s for every misdemeanour. They’re not exactly wrong, but Kiara defends them anyway.

Even when JJ leans over the counter in The Wreck and talks a mile a minute.

“ _Upgrade_ to sweet potato fries?” his complaints are loud. “Who would pay extra for them? Fuck, they’re the worst. What’s wrong with a good old-fashioned potato?”

Kiara is more friendly with John B than JJ. “Why are you here, JJ?”

He’s stolen a fry from a plate that’s been returned. Tossed it into the air and caught it in his open mouth. “John B wants to go surfing tonight.”

Kiara makes a noise and wants to ask whether JJ is just John B’s messenger boy, but last time Pope had said some idle comment about JJ’s devotion John B had had to catch JJ’s wrist with one hand, and shove the blonde away, muttering something under his breath.

She ends her shift an hour early because her dad asks her to get rid of JJ and the only way to do that is to leave with him. She rides on the back of the bike with her board under one arm, and it’s something which is extremely dangerous and definitely not aerodynamically efficient, but JJ tucks the board under his arm as well, and drives as carefully as he can.

The bike is another bone of contention. JJ’s sprayed it a different colour and prised the plates off it, which Kiara takes as a bad sign.

She complains to John B about it, who says, “hey, he likes having a fast getaway,” and says, “more like who,” darkly when she asks what precisely JJ Maybank is getting away from. If there’s one thing JJ isn’t, it’s non-confrontational. That boy would pick a fight with a paper bag.

She thinks she knows him, but then she catches small moments. Like how actually it’s usually John B who gets himself in compromising situations, whether he’s made a move on the wrong girl, or made some casual comment to the wrong person. Sure, JJ usually throws the first punch – but only because he’s summoned to John B’s side by any harsh word thrown his friend’s way. And, actually, if Kie watches closer – JJ doesn’t usually initiate the physical side of things. He may be the first one to actually punch or hit out, but he’s the one being jostled or having things knocked out of his hands or tripped.

There’s some semblance of a moral code somewhere. One that only JJ knows and abides by.

Kie teaches them all how to do friendship bracelets one lazy summer’s day, sitting with their backs to the sides of the Pogue. Pope is the worst and keeps tangling himself in the threads, but he’s persistent. John B is average and a slow worker, tongue stuck between his teeth. It’s JJ who’s surprising – who bends his head over his lap and works quickly, constantly looking up to Kie and the thread she’s working with, to check that he’s got it right – pulling the threads tight. He gives the finished bracelet to John B, who grins at the misshapen green thread, and renews his effort on his own.

It’s Kie who attaches John B’s bracelet to JJ’s wrist, who holds his wrist aloft awkwardly and looks away. She ties it extra tight, and tugs on it to make sure it’s secure.

She figures that because JJ is reckless with himself, he will be with others – but he always steps up first, always takes the first hit, pushes John B out of the way. Even knows when Pope’s courage is starting to fail, whether to bait him into continuing on with whatever scheme they’ve led the boy down, or whether to shrug and back off.

It’s mostly JJ who stops her crawling straight back to them, when she’s kicked to the curb. The Kook life had engulfed her, snuck under her skin in a gradual way. The boys stop coming around to The Wreck, stop calling or texting. She still sends Pope memes occasionally, and John B likes most of her Instagram posts.

She misses them more than she misses the illusion of the Kook life. Sure, Sarah Cameron had been an extremely welcome and all-consuming distraction. That loss stung like a brush with a jellyfish. But the loss of the Pogues was like still healing wound, and she was picking at the scab every time she saw them. Whether it’s Pope helping his dad with deliveries, or John B in the store picking up their favourite snacks.

She recognises all the packages in his hands, from the cool ranch Doritos to the Reese’s peanut butter cups. She can assign them to each of them (Pope – Hershey’s kisses; John B – sour skittles; JJ – peanut butter cups and Doritos, in the same mouthful and contrary to everyone else’s opinion).

John B nods at her, smiles a little. “Hey, Kie,” he says gently.

Kiara has heard about his dad in vague terms. Mutterings that someone was lost at sea, never came home. It makes her ache, because although Big John often left John B he always came back eventually. If the power blinked off because the bill was overdue, it would only be off for a day or two. It was reassuring, having an expiry date on misery.

“You better have the Hershey’s,” JJ’s voice is loud, and he rounds the end of the aisle. “No matter how many times I tell him that they’re not a valid replacement for the real thing, Pope will never forgive us if – oh.” His jaw snaps shut and he doesn’t even glare at her, his gaze just slides past uninterestedly.

JJ walks past, keeping a careful distance, and there’s a beat before John B follows him to the cash register. They don’t look back.

Pope waves when they’re on the same stretch of beach, boards tucked under arm. JJ sits in the sand, board propped next to him, sprinkling tobacco onto a paper. He looks up towards her, then dismisses her instantly.

Pope comes along to The Wreck and orders a cheeseburger and fries (no pickles, and definitely not sweet potato fries). Pope says, “we miss you,” around a fry.

“Not sure JJ does,” the words stick in her throat, and she has to look away from him. “Don’t think he’ll ever forgive me.”

Pope sighs, picks up the burger. “Probably not,” he replies honestly. “He’s kind of super into loyalty and all that shit. If John B said jump, he’d ask how high.”

It’s precisely what Kie expected, and she gives Pope a free slice of cheesecake when her dad’s not looking and tells him to keep an eye on the boys for her. Pope’s lips press together and he looks shifty for a moment, so Kie waits next to him, because it never takes long for him to break.

“JJ and John B – since Big John went, they’re uh,” he stares at his hands. “Worse? Than usual. I don’t know.”

There’s not much she can do from a distance, she doesn’t think. And her reappearance is extremely unlikely to foster good relations. It’s not like she can just rock up and start telling them what to do.

“You know where I am,” she tells him, and Pope sighs and nods.

Kiara doesn’t expect anything to come of it.

She’s woken up four days later by something rattling persistently against her window. When she yanks the curtains open and pulls up the window, she almost falls out as she sees a familiar mop of blonde hair curling from underneath a likely stolen hat.

JJ says, “get your ass down here,” and she’s tempted to snap at him to shut the fuck up, but her heart’s already beating double time and she’s taking the stairs two at a time, grabbing a hoodie on the way.

JJ’s on the front step, looking as casual as can be. “I’m really glad I got the right fucking window – figured your parents wouldn’t have a dream catcher.”

She can’t quite get over his existence, in front of her, wearing a sweat shirt she thinks is John B’s, his classic black boots, and board shorts. “You could have called,” she tells him because there’s not much else she can think of to say.

“No phone,” he explains breezily. JJ’s phones have a habit of disappearing or smashing or being recovered from the side of the couch.

“So – uh – is there an emergency, or…?”

JJ tips his head to look at the dark night sky. It’s disconcerting to go from being dismissed at every turn to having him on her porch. “Dunno if you’ve heard, but Big John’s gone missing,” he tells the stars. “And John B’s pretty cut up about it.”

She nods numbly because she is very aware – she’s typed out a text about a hundred times, but the platitudes feel false over technology.

“And I – and Pope, actually – have been trying our best, but we think we may be lacking the – uh – feminine touch.”

“I think you mean emotional capacity.”

He tilts his head then, gaze moving from the night sky to her shoulder. He never asks for help with anything, is unused to being in this position. His toe drags across the dirt and he doesn’t look directly at her. “Yeah, some shit like that.”

There’s a silence, and Kiara thinks that JJ would have gladly gone on ignoring her forever if not for John B. She’s not sure how that fact makes her feel.

“Can you come by tomorrow?” he prompts. “Have words or something?”

She does go round, in the morning at ten. She takes supplies to make breakfast and the three boys slowly emerge into the kitchen, sniffing the air like blind kittens. John B and Pope do a double take, but she pulls John B into a hug and tells him she’s sorry, now would he like a breakfast burrito.

JJ wanders in and John B and Pope eye him warily, but the blonde just says, “’sup,” and swigs orange juice straight from the carton. Kiara can see John B and Pope looking at each other incredulously, but Pope looks understanding when Kie corners John B and insists that the two of them go on a walk.

John B cries into her shirt, but it’s like a weight has been lifted. Kiara shoots JJ a surreptitious thumbs up when they return to the Chateau, and JJ passes her the end of a joint after a beat of hesitation.

He’s definitely unconventional, and most certainly rough around the edges. But JJ is also vying for the top spot of being her favourite Pogue.

**Author's Note:**

> i never usually do drabbles with such little plot but turns out i have a lot of emotions
> 
> i'm also on [tumblr](https://a-bomb-in-a-birdcage.tumblr.com/)


End file.
